Devil's Night
by Alexandra Lyman
Summary: Part of the Between Heaven & Hell alternate universe. Demon!Killian and Angel!Emma, where a role reversal of a kind takes place, and some tricks or treats on a Halloween night.


**Happy Halloween everyone (cutting it right to the wire). This takes place in the universe of my fic Between Heaven and Hell, where Emma is an angel and Killian is a demon, and they have a secret relationship.**

* * *

 **Devil's Night**

Killian looked at his reflection in the full length mirror, head tilted slightly to the side as he took in the whole effect. He looked different, more different than he expected, but then that was the whole point of Halloween, wasn't it? Don a costume, hide your true self behind a mask and be something new. A hero perhaps, or a villain, indulge in a secret, unspoken desire or face your deepest fears, it was a rare time when the normal rules of behaviour didn't apply and anyone could be anything they wanted for this one night.

A sinner could even be a saint. Or pretend to be one, at least.

His hair was parted on the side and neatly combed down. The beard was gone, he had shaved it off completely and it made him look even younger than he normally did. Of course he always looked far younger than he actually was, but the lack of facial hair exaggerated it even more and gave him a surprisingly innocent air, almost cherubic in appearance. The outfit helped with the illusion, he was dressed in a sober dark shirt, jacket and trousers that were plain and utilitarian and lacked the swagger and flash of his expensive bespoke suits. A small white collar peeked through at his throat and with that one accessory his costume was complete, even those who had never once set foot in a Catholic church knew the uniform of a humble priest.

If Halloween was the night for pretending to be someone else, then an infernal demon dressed as a pious man of the cloth was the perfect disguise.

He smiled at the mirror, a gentle, reassuring smile instead of his customary knowing smirk. It felt strange, and looked even stranger, but it really was the finishing touch. He turned away from the glass with a chuckle and picked up his wallet and phone from the dresser, sliding both into his pockets. The TV in his bedroom was on, tuned in to the local news. A reporter dressed as a fairy was out on location, filming children collecting candy and interviewing frazzled parents in one of the city's more upscale neighbourhoods. Miniature superheroes in detailed masks and princesses dressed in the Disney Store's finest swarmed the sidewalks in droves, Halloween had fallen on a Saturday this year and the weather was also unseasonably warm for October, so the streets were absolutely packed with trick or treaters. None had come to knock on his door, his condo building wasn't exactly "family friendly" and aside from some tasteful fall foliage set on the concierge's desk in the lobby there was no other decoration in the common areas to mark the occasion. No grinning jack o'lanterns in the windows or fake spiderwebs on display, the uptight members of the condo board had taken a vote and decided it didn't fit with the image they wanted to present. The irony amused him when the notice was circulated to all the owners, they were banned from putting up so much as a paper cartoon devil on their unit doors while they all remained blissfully unaware of the real demon right under their noses, living quietly in the penthouse under the nondescript alias of Mr. K. Jones.

The news continued to drone on in the background as he sat on the edge of the bed and slipped on his shoes, the two anchors in the studio were talking about the more adult options available to celebrate the holiday. Lines were already forming at the more popular bars and clubs and it was expected that the partying would go on until the wee hours of the night.

The chief of police was shown in a pre-taped message, reminding people not to drink and drive and that Halloween was supposed to be a fun night but it was not an excuse to ignore the law. Killian rolled his eyes and shut off the TV halfway through Humbert's stilted statement, the mayor's pet cop was a pretty boy who looked good standing next to her at official functions but he always seemed like a deer caught in the headlights whenever he had to speak for himself.

Car keys were snatched off the table in the hall and he rode the elevator down to the underground parking garage, rolling the fob around his thumb. The doors opened on the thirteenth floor and a woman got on with him, like everyone else in the building he knew her by sight if not by name. Two-tone dye job, razor sharp clavicles and an even sharper tongue whenever she berated the concierge over some minor complaint with her mother-of-pearl cigarette case tapping angrily against the man's desk. She was draped in a long fur coat that would give the members of PETA a collective heart attack and her eyes flicked across him without recognition over the coat's collar. Killian noticed that she stood a tiny bit straighter, fingers moving as if worrying something imaginary between them when the elevator started to descend again.

"Excuse me, Father," she said when they reached the garage, fluffing up the fur by her cheek and strolling over to a vintage car the size of a small yacht. He made his way towards his own parking spot, a sound of mirth escaping him at the realization that he had actually been mistaken for a real priest. He'd been called many things in his time, but never once had anyone ever said that.

He wondered what Emma's reaction would be when she saw him. She already had plans of her own for the evening, she was helping out with the annual children's party and teen dance at Saint Raphael's and had declined his invitation to come over, but he had some ideas on how to entice her out for some naughty fun later on. Until then he would entertain himself in other ways and his Viper roared to life with a turn of the key, ready for a night on the town. He threw it into gear and headed out, taking the turns too fast and running through red lights. Angry horns blared in his wake and a grin split his face, he used to ride the best horses at a screaming gallop across the fields in times past and cars were no different. With a spin of the wheel the sleek black vehicle slid neatly into place at the curb in front of his destination, a new nightclub called The Dragon's Lair and the news had been right about the lineups. Even though it was still early the waiting crowd stretched halfway down the block and if he really was a good little priest he'd go to the end and wait his turn with the rest. But that was just a ridiculous idea, so he stepped out of the car (ignoring the fact that he was parked illegally) and went right up to the large bouncer at the front door.

"Back of the line, buddy," he said without looking up from his iPad.

Killian reached out and tapped a finger on top of the tablet, "I'm on the list."

The screen went dark and the bouncer frowned, swiping across it. It lit up again and a single message was displayed on it, "Let him in."

He didn't for the bouncer's response, he merely stepped past the man and went right through the door. It led into a dimly lit hall that was curtained at the other end, the beat of the music and the muffled sound of the crowd seeping through the edges. It called to him as such places always did, the mix of alcohol and hormones in a small space was a sure recipe for potential sin. But before he went any further he pulled his phone out and sent Emma a text.

 _Trick or treat_

There wasn't an immediate reply but he knew his angel very well. She was never one to back down from any challenge, even an innocuous one. Her curiosity would be piqued, and in addition to killing the proverbial cat it was always the first step before the fall.

Costumes abounded among the clubgoers, fancy dress of all kinds from cheap drugstore sets to elaborate creations that must have taken days to put together. Killian took a seat at the bar and watched the parade in front of him, gangsters in pinstriped suits and eyeliner moustaches, cowboys with Stetsons and sheriff's badges pinned to their shirts, Jedi knights wielding plastic lightsabers and chugging their beers. Witches rubbed elbows with movie stars and everywhere he looked he saw a woman dressed as the sexy version of something mundane, sexy nurse, sexy cop, sexy...raccoon? Sure enough, the girl had dark makeup ringing her eyes and a striped tail pinned to the back of her tiny hotpants. Humans were strange creatures, he mused as he sipped at his drink. Once they had all dressed as saints on this night, it was what the word Halloween actually meant. Halloween was All Hallows Eve, and hallows was an old word for saint. It was once a holy night that had twisted and turned over the years until it belonged more to his kind now as the mortal souls made it a night to celebrate the creatures of darkness. There were several of them in the crowd, not real demons of course, save for him, but there were more than a few devils out on the dance floor, black robes and red horns moving easily thorugh the crowd.

The phone pinged in his pocket and he fished it out, thumbing over the text on the screen. Emma had replied to his earlier message.

 _From you? Neither_

She never could resist a challenge. _What are you doing?_ he typed.

 _Watching a bunch of teenagers all trying to work up the courage to ask each other to dance_

He looked at the dance floor again and saw men and women eyeing each other, the way they tried to sidle up and engage a potential mate under the guise of the music. Some things never changed.

 _Are you dressed up tonight?_

Emma's reply popped up quickly, _Yes_

 _What are you wearing?_

 _You have a dirty mind, Killian_

 _Always, but I meant the costume Emma. Show me_

 _No_

 _Please?_

Another few minutes ticked on and he ordered a refill on his scotch, tapping his fingers against his phone. Finally it vibrated again and when he saw the picture she had sent he felt his eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch. She had obviously taken this picture in a bathroom mirror, turned slightly to the side to show the tissue paper wings attached to her back of her white dress. A pipe cleaner halo was perched on top of her blonde curls and the only thing missing was the harp.

 _Technically that is not a costume_

 _The kids made it for me_

 _And you look very pretty, but it's not a costume. You're supposed to be something you're not_

 _Dare I ask what you're dressed up as then?_

He smiled, thumbs flying over the screen as he sent her the address of the club and added, _Come see for yourself_

The Dragon's Lair lived up to its name, it was a rather cavernous space with green tinted lighting that picked up the flecks of mica in the granite tabletops and bar. In deference to the date the DJ booth had a pair of fake skeletons wearing oversized headphones on display, Thriller was played at the top of every hour and the waitresses all wore skin-tight orange T-shirts with black jack o'lantern eyes printed across their nubile breasts, carrying trays of lurid green shots they were selling under the name Dragon's Blood. Killian bought three and shared them with two ladies dressed as medieval wenches, peasant blouses pulled down low off their shoulders and corsets squeezing their waists. They joked about his priest costume, asking in breathy voices about his "vow of celibacy". He flirted back, encouraging them to confess their sins in his ear. The blonde with the corkscrew curls told him she wasn't wearing underwear, while the sultry brunette said she'd once slept with her sister's boyfriend and then pulled back, hand over her mouth and clearly surprised that she had admitted that to him. With a wave of his hand he summoned the waitress back and told the wenches that the penance for their sins was to drink more shots. They tipped the liquor back eagerly and he felt the blonde's hand settle firm on his thigh under the table, inching upwards as if she was feeling for what he had on under his trousers.

It continued on for the rest of the night. Even though it was just a costume, there was something about the priestly vestments that sparked an urge to reveal their deepest, darkest secrets. Many a sin was confessed in whispers as the music raged and the lights pulsed overhead, recounting tales of lies and lust and deceit. The alcohol certainly helped, tongues were loosened with the drink and they told him even more, he danced with a girl in felt cat ears and tail who shoplifted clothes from her job at a store in the mall, and a bartenders in a vampire cape and fangs copped to secretly mixing doubles for the women he wanted to hit on to "loosen them up". Killian listened to them all, gorging himself on the dark power they were giving him with each sin they relived and offering false absolution for their crimes.

"I'll never tell," he promised each of them with a wink, but the devil always lied.

The costumes started to fall apart as the hour grew even later, the carefully applied makeup smeared and rubbed off and the crowd started to thin out. Cheerleaders paired off with zombies and he saw one of the wenches from earlier leave with a boy scout in hat and neckerchief. It was the one who wasn't wearing any underwear, and he wondered if the scout had come prepared as the motto exhorted him to. He received his fair share of offers and some truly filthy come-ons, it seemed a lot of women had dirty priest fantasies they were more than willing to explore with him. But he turned them all down and continued to exchange texts with Emma, teasing and coaxing her to come out and play.

 _The children must all be in bed by now, why don't you come knock on my door?_

 _And what, you'll give me candy?_

He couldn't resist, _Well, I'll give you something you can put in your mouth_

 _Dirty mind, damnate_

 _Always, and you love it_

A brief pause, and then her next message appeared, _Are you still wearing this mysterious costume?_

 _Aye_

 _What are you, a pirate?_

 _I am many things, sweet angel...but if you really want to know you'll have to come see for yourself_

 _Maybe I'm already here_

He set his glass down at that, the anticipation burning hot under his skin. She wasn't in the club, he'd feel her presence if she was that close to him so she was either somewhere nearby or she was at his condo. The waitress passed his table and he quickly shoved bills into her hand to cover his tab, getting to his feet and heading outside. A parking ticket was tucked under the windshield wiper blade of his Viper but he ignored it, fixing parking tickets was child's play. There was a few people hanging around the club's entrance smoking cigarettes under the neon sign of a dragon's back and tail, and the bouncer was still positioned by the door. Their eyes met and the man quickly looked away.

No sign of Emma, but he could feel other eyes on him and sensed malevolent intent in the air. A ripple of excitement went down his spine and he started to walk, heading away from his car and hearing the faint echo of footsteps following along behind. A dark storefront window showed their reflection when he passed and glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, three men moving with the unsteady gait of those who'd imbibed a bit too much and not dressed up in costume, unless they had gone for Petty Thug tonight.

Killian ambled along, the night air making the leaves rustle in the gutters and the streetlights flickering and dimming overhead. He went halfway down the block with his three companions keeping pace until they reached a gap between the buildings, a narrow alley that led to the dead end of a padlocked gate. There was a moment where they wavered, he could feel the hesitation and he made it easy for them to make the wrong choice, deliberately veering towards the dark recess and letting himself stumble as if he had tripped over something on the ground.

One moved in front and the other two crowded in behind, herding him down the alley with hands on his shoulders and muttered threats. They blocked the way out, shoving him back roughly and cracking their knuckles.

"You were flashing a pretty big wad back there at the bar, think you're a real high roller, huh? Now hand the wallet over or we'll beat the shit out of you."

The one who had spoken was clearly the leader, the other two flanked him as he spoke and did their best to look menacing. Killian could smell the stale beer on their breath, the liquid courage flowing through their veins but dulling their senses. They didn't notice the way the shadows lengthened and stretched around them, the sudden quiet as no cars drove past the mouth of the alley. He held his palms up in a gesture of apparent surrender and the three relaxed.

"No."

Confusion flickered over their faces at his response and he gave a pleasant smile, sliding his hands back into his pockets. The one on the left shuffled his feet back and forth, "Come on guys, let's just get the fuck out of here."

"You really should listen to him," Killian said, nodding his head towards Drunk Number Three. It had the opposite effect, which was his intent, and Drunk Number One dug in his heels.

"Last chance, give me the money or you're going to lose some teeth," he said, taking a step forward and making a meaty fist.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

The three of them all turned at the sound of the voice that drifted out of the shadows. A woman's voice, pitched low and threatening. He knew that voice, knew it intimately, but he had rarely heard her sound like _that_ and it was doing positively delicious things to his lower anatomy.

"Who the fuck are you?"

She appeared a moment later, seemingly out of thin air and the trio of drunks all started in surprise. He had to suppress a laugh at the sight of her, the white dress and halo were gone and it seemed that he was not the only one who had chosen to don an ironic costume. The heels of her black boots clicked against the dirty pavement, dark leather that hugged her calves and caressed her thighs. A dress as red as freshly spilled blood and lipstick to match, making her look like she had just taken a bite out of a very lucky someone. There was a pair of pointy red horns nestled in her hair and she carried a plastic pitchfork in her left hand.

His angel had dressed as his master, and despite the utter inaccuracy of the outfit a part of him still roared to attention at the sight of it. A thrumming started low in his belly and his fingers twitched with dark urges, the flames of infernal fire crackling under his skin. He could knock aside the three drunks with a single hand and envelop her in his smoke and shadow, binding her to him and claiming her for his own. They might be evenly matched the rest of the year, but this was the devil's night, _his_ night, and his power burned at a near fever pitch.

"What the hell?" one of the drunks muttered, "Fuck off, lady."

He took a step towards the man, ready to punish him for the insult but Emma met his eyes over the drunk's shoulder and gave a tiny shake of her head. Since they could hardly do her any harm he leaned back against the wall behind him, curious as to what exactly she had up her non-existent sleeve.

"Oh me? I'm no lady. And you three, trying to mug a priest?" she clicked her tongue in reproach and wagged a finger, "For shame."

"He's not a fucking priest," Drunk Number Two chimed in, "it's just a fucking costume."

"Is it? Are you really sure?"

The three glanced back with sudden uncertainty. He gave his gentle smile and a small wave, which seemed to unsettle them even more.

"Maybe we should leave," the one on the left said again, "I don't want to roll a priest, that's like a sin or something."

"He's not a priest, you idiot! What, you think she's really the devil too? She's just a nosy bitch in a red dress."

Drunk Number One started to advance on Emma but was stopped by the tines of her plastic pitchfork, pressed hard against his chest. She looked almost bored as she held him at bay, and Killian watched the drunk's expression change from anger to bafflement as he tried and failed to push past the flimsy prop.

Emma spoke again in that sexy drawl, "Didn't you ever hear that the devil takes many forms? Why not a nosy bitch in a red dress?"

The pitchfork tines suddenly morphed into the heads of three hissing snakes, black as the night with glowing red eyes. The man fell over backwards, scrambling frantically on his palms and kicking out with his feet as he twisted on the ground and tried to get away. Drunk Number Two screamed and took off at a run, disappearing around the mouth of the alley and leaving his friends behind. The third was rooted to the spot, one hand reaching out and clawing at the air, "Help me, Father!"

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle his glee, "You are beyond my help, my child."

The snakes lunged and bit at the air and he made smoke rise from the pavement and swirl around them. The terrified men managed to find their feet, staggering down the alley together and throwing horrified glances back as they went. He saw one cross himself and heard the muttered prayer, and then they were gone.

"Now that has to be against the rules."

Emma shrugged, resting the pitchfork on one bare shoulder. It was perfectly ordinary again, cheap plastic painted black and red, "I didn't say anything that wasn't true. Besides, they deserved it."

The hem of her dress rode up her legs enticingly as she moved towards him, fingers plucking the white collar from his shirt, "Really, Killian? Or should I say Father Jones? Who in their right mind would ever think you were a _priest_?"

"You know until I met you I had no idea angels could be so sarcastic."

He grasped her by the hips and pulled her forward, brushing his nose over hers, "The snakes were a nice touch beata. Or should I say damnate?"

Her hands rested flat on his chest, "You said the whole point was to be something else, Father Jones."

"Call me that again, I kind of like it."

A knee pressed between his legs and her lips hovered over his, "Trick or treat, Killian."

It was quite a treat, when they were back in his condo and her legs were wrapped over his hips, dress pushed up to her waist as he took her against the wall. The devil always took his due and he woke up the next morning with a smile on his face and an angel in his arms, the horns propped on top of his head during the night and a red lipstick kiss smeared over his heart.


End file.
